Dime Novels From Oblivion

The podcast studio was the size of a large closet. In the middle of the room was a table with four mounted microphones in the center, two facing right the other two pointed left and a small soundboard set up on the upper right corner. The plaster wall was painted black with the words Information Defense Force painted in bold red letters across the surface.
Todd and Ryan were sitting across from each other, their faces illuminated by the glow of their open laptops. Ryan, the host, was in a plush leather office chair, while Ryan sat in a folding chair. Today, IDF was going live. The corporate-Marxists Hollywood machine had just launched a new phase in its ongoing cultural assault so it was up to self-appointed leaders like Todd to rally their troops and let them know what they could do to fight back.
"The SJDs have taken off their gloves now." Todd declared. "If what they're doing doesn't have you convinced they want to destroy the very basis of western culture, …

There are people you have no idea even exist and who at this moment you may have no conceivable connections to who will inflict pain on you so deep it will ingrain itself into your neurological wiring. There are other people out there though,  whose existence you are unaware of and who are just as oblivious to your existence who upon you will replicate the same pain that emotionally deformed you. It is a misguided form of vengeance. Likely, you'll only ever have the vaguest notion of what happened, but there is also a chance you'll feel perpetual and tremendous guilt for it. It doesn't matter, though, as this is inevitable. They have a word for it "cycle."

King Agesilaus and his entourage stood on the beach pensively watching the golden sun ascend from beneath where the twin planes of turquoise water and crystal sky merged into an endless gleaming expanse of blue.
The morning tide was coming in, and the otherwise still waters were clawing their way up the shore, breaking over the rocks and spreading out over the sand before slowly withdrawing and coming in again. A slight breeze swept over the water and through the King’s coarse ash colored beard and to the discernment of his entourage, the great man audibly shuddered.
“Posiden approaches,” Agesilaus cooly announced.
The men all trained their eyes, several meters they could see long white hair drifting in the water.  Everyone behind the King took a step back when they saw a wrinkled forehead break through the surface followed by eyes with the electric glow of lightning.
He was still far out, but already his broad shoulders and impossibly sculpted chest were already several feet above th…

There were three of them in the car. Sandra in the driver’s seat, Adam her eight-year-old son and their nameless armed abductor in the back. They had been driving in silence for hours with no discernible destination. The armed man sitting in Sandra’s back seat next to her child but as they put the city further and further behind them. Sandra started to worry about what his intentions might be.
They were on an isolated and unlit country road. Sandra could only see down the pavement as far as the beams of her headlights stretched sometimes revealing the carcasses of animals pulverized by trucks, some of which had managed to crawl to the edge of the forests that flanked the road leaving a crimson smear on the black asphalt.
A warning light on the dashboard flashed warning Sandra they were almost out of gas. She gritted her teeth and looked up at the mirror and saw the kidnapper staring out the window while he chewed on his nails.
Her voice was a trembling whisper. “Excuse me.”
He didn’t …

This is the first story in the Kindle book I compiled. It's a collection of the first stories I managed to get published.  There is a little something for everyone here. Humor, war, science fiction. If you reasonably enjoy this piece consider purchasing the collection: Here
                                                  In the Blink of an Eye:
Up until now, the grinding gears of history revolved at such a slow pace that our perception of it was like a puzzle, the constantly changing fragments creating an eternally changing picture inhabited and shaped by generations, but progress made it possible for the change to arrive in the form of a flash just a billionth of a second long with a blinding light and the pain of flesh-searing fire that burned away the world I knew as if it were covered in lighter fluid. For us, there were no blue skies. Daytime was just when the sun was shining bright enough to penetrate through the acrid black clouds that had consumed the sky and mingled with …

So after many years of considering it, I finally pulled the trigger and made a short Kindle book featuring my published works from the early days. It was actually quite a bit easier a process than I thought! Anyway if you're interested in having Dime Novels on your Kindle you can for the modest price of $1.99

Three acts are not required to tell a story. A story can be cold in a moment. These are the instances that are the pivots on which existence turns.  What would you do if you met Jesus at a party or had the misfortune of dying under a mushroom cloud? You’ll find all of this and a bit more than you might have expected in these 91 pages of existential mischief.

https://www.amazon.com/Dime-Novels-Oblivion-symptoms-condition-ebook/dp/B07RFJ4Y9N/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?keywords=dime+novels+from+oblivion&qid=1557246169&s=digital-text&sr=1-1-fkmrnull

I'm proud to announce The Prachya Review has included me in their Feminism and Social Justice Issue! There's nothing I can say about it the editor hasn't already said better. Take a look at the issue and hear what some of these voices have to say. Hopefully, you'll walk away with a new perspective on this kaleidoscope of human experience. Check it out here
https://www.prachyareview.com/april-2019/

I would like to thank The Sirens Call Publications for including my piece in their newest anthology of short stories and flash fiction! You can download the ezine here:
http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/…/SirensCallEZine_Apr…
It's a really cool collection. The stories are rapid-fire darkness!

The softly lit room was filled with scattered clusters of black-clothed mourners conversing about a range of things from mortgages, lawns, and gutters to the exorbitant cost of education and where to get the best deal on a new set of tires.
The old man laying silently in the coffin on the other side of the room with his hands crossed over his chest in the shadow of a gleaming silver crucifix mounted on the wall was at this point in the morning just a centerpiece. These were the last moments' air or light would ever touch his flesh.
This was seven-year-old Grace’s first such function.  She stood at the opposite end of the room glancing at the gold trimmed pine box. In the child’s mind death was associated with instant putridity. Her imagination conjured up images of lumbering zombies with blood stained teeth protruding from the decaying flesh of their lipless mouths.
That this could be the new form of her dearly departed grandfather chilled the girl’s blood. She did not think herse…

Sometimes when I'm pursuing publisher calls for short stories I look at my body of work and several pieces stick out to me as being genreless. Since I'm currently going through a period of writer's block, I figured now is as good time as ever to start categorizing some of these misfit stories.

Check out the list below and if you should feel so inclined give them a read and drop me a line letting me know how you think I should categorize these shorts.

1. Beneficiaries

2. The Hotel Ascendancy 

3. Adolf Hitler: Dating Meister 

4. Leave Your Aspirations at the Dump 

5. Causes

This month’s issue of the Moon magazine is out today, and it features a piece from yours truly!

http://moonmagazine.org/nicholas-johnson-big-day-2019-03-30/

The issue is called "Death. The future we seldom speak of." So you can probably guess the subject matter. The Moon is an excellent publication that features a wide array of great writers and thinkers on a month to month basis. Check this one out and peruse the archives you might find something that rocks your world or changes your life!

Earth had been a quiet place the last two hundred and seventy-one years. It had come to pass that the humans once paramount on the planet had been supplanted and eventually exterminated by the electronic intelligence humanity itself had spawned.
The face of the planet was pockmarked by nuclear detonations that left irradiated plains of ruins where only the sturdiest of microbes and insects could find a use for heaps of charred human remains. There was no one to hear the bellow of the wind as it passed through the hollow caverns of a billion human skulls.
This extinction was foretold by a million Cassandras, but just like the prophet from antiquity, their warnings went unheeded. The difference this time being there was no one left to gain any insight from the resulting apocalypse.
That is no one besides the sentient electric lifeform that flowed through the countless rusting hulks of murder machines sitting idle on every planet. The whole affair of human annihilation had been pathetica…

Melony Coasts was by all standards a very attractive women. Two births, although one admittedly was c-section, and the subsequent sixteen years of motherhood did little to diminish Melony’s radiant beauty nor dampen her lively personality.
Melony’s children her 16-year-old son Eric, and her 14-year-old daughter Sophia were the fortunate product’s of two very enviable sets of genes. Naturally, the Coasts were popular around the neighborhood. Then one day the enterprising and chronically bored Melony developed the idea of transforming her charismatic family into a lucrative YouTube series.
Melony’s optimism was not misplaced. The family was an instant internet sensation, and soon they were drawing audiences of millions. Merchandise sales and fan donations came flooding in for the already relatively wealthy Coasts.
Like more conventional television shows fans usually had a favorite star of the show. A considerable portion of the viewership was drawn in by Melony’s low cut shirts and form…

The Emperor's secluded island palace was a grand labyrinth connected by marble corridors gently lit by evenly spaced rows of candles. Antonious the master of the imperial treasury was being escorted by a silent guard of soldiers armor molded in silver and trimmed with gold. They walked in step, the rhythmic echo of their footsteps blended with faint moans of lust and sudden squeals of pain that emanated from the walls.
Inside the Emperor's depraved sanctuary, there was no restraint on any of his impulses no matter how debased and cruel. In all the Empire this is where his rule was truly absolute, and the master of the house subjected all inside to pleasures and torments unmatched by anything outside those walls. Antonious dreaded this place.
The palace guards didn’t lead Antonious to a grand hall for his audience with the Emperor but to a small room. The ruler didn’t sit on a throne. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor at the head of a short-legged table covered with a d…

Melissa came through the door of the townhouse carrying two canvass bags brimming with groceries. She kicked the door closed behind her and lugged the bags to the kitchen. Melissa’s 7-year-old daughter Emma was in the adjoining living room sitting at a small plastic table set up in front of the TV. The surface of the child's activities desk was covered with scattered crayons and white sheet paper. Kate, the nanny was sitting on the sectional sofa directly behind Emma.
“Hey Mrs. Karvic,” Kate said.
“Hi Kate,” Melissa replied as she set the grocery bags down on the counter.
“Do you want help with those?” offered kate.
“Yes, thank you,” said Melissa.
“Mommy! Want to see what I drew?!”
“Of course I do!” Melissa said with reciprocal enthusiasm.
“Come see!” Shouted Emma
“Ok! Just a second,” said Melissa.
“This looks nice,” Kate grinned as she pulled out a bottle of red wine from one the bags.
Melissa smiled “I landed a new account today, so I thought I deserved a little treat.”
“Congrat…

“We literally had a window with a view of eternity. Once I saw it in person, I decided I never wanted to think about it again.”
This was Meghan York’s most repeated sentiment about his time in space.  The infinite void rather than inspire Meghan’s mind had provoked an existential dread. The dark emptiness was something she never wanted to face again.
Upon his return to humanity’s celestial cradle, Meghan rejected the curiosities that had to lead her to the very demarcation line of human existence and instead embraced his biological imperative to raise offspring.
“Life,” Meghan told herself, “Life is the only remedy.”
Meghan was not annoyed to be awoken by the cries of her infant son crackling over the baby monitor. She was laying in bed anticipating its calls for a midnight feeding.
The crib was against the wall opposite the door. A woven canopy of softly glowing lights gently flowed out from a fixture above casting gentle shadows on the room’s sky blue paint. Hearing the door open th…

Karnot propped up his tired old body with his cane and quietly watched as a group of parents showed their children how to dig a small irrigation ditch. On most days a sight such as that would be enough to move the otherwise stalwart man to tears.  The 66-year-old Karnot had lost his only child, and now it was far too late for him to have another. For a man in his twilight years, it was a very lonely apocalypse. It would all die with him. But this time watching the process of one generation passing on knowledge to the next quelled his sadness. The old pioneer may not have carried his genes into the cosmos, but he could be sure he was leaving a hard fought for legacy. The survival of any species is never more than a numbers game. Life, especially in it’s more complex forms is exceedingly fragile. Matter will only take on consciousness for the briefest of periods before entropy tears the physical form apart and scatters the pieces into oblivion. Make as many copies as you can as quickly as…

The descent into the lightless shaft was accompanied by the rhythmic clicking from the steel teeth of gears. Every revolution of the cogwheels brought them lower and lower. 25 miners were packed into the iron lift. They drifted into the thickening darkness without a word.
The cogs abruptly locked into place as the bottom of the cart bumped against the ground. The sliding steel cage open with an ear piercing screech and the human cargo disembarked. They stood in a cavern that was at the hub four diverging tunnels. Without saying a word, they dropped their equipment into the dirt and disappeared into the lightless depths of the subterranean passages.
On the surface, the systems of civilized life were also facing similar arrest.  Everywhere people stopped whatever it is they were doing and either wondered off into the surrounding frontier or simply became stuck behind doors which they no longer had the wherewithal to open, or their bodies were seized by inescapable behavioral loops. Eve…

Doctor David Merk was sitting at one of three round tables in the rather modest employee breakroom. He carefully ripped the foil topping from his cup of yogurt and mixed up the contents with a small plastic spoon. He took a bite and gave a friendly nod of acknowledgment to a lab assistant on his way to use the microwave.
Doctor Tanya Andrassy walked into the room holding a small Tupperware container in her hand a folded up newspaper under her arm.
“Doctor Merk,” she greeted in a way that was both as formal as it was familiar.
“Doctor Andrassy” David replied.
Tanya sat opposite of David and laid the paper out flat on the table. She pointed to a picture of a remarkably handsome young man.
“Remember him?” She coyly asked.
David wiped some strawberry yogurt smattered in the snow-white hair of his mustache and studied the photo for a moment.
“Oh, that’s a second generation Kyle S series,” David said. “He got into Yale? Good for him,” David said nonchalantly
“Do you ever wonder if we might…

“I have been whispering your whole life, and now you can finally hear me.”
A raspy voice muttered in Joseph’s ear. Joseph’s slumber gave way to a consciousness gripped with panic but a body that would not move.
The first thing in his field of vision was the elongated silhouette of a millipede crawling around in the lamp above hanging above his head.
“I have always been with you. I know everything you know, and I’ve seen everything that you’ve seen and a millennia more.”
“Who are you?” Joseph asked in a choked whisper.
“My name is gone forever. Just like the empire, I served” the voice said with no trace of sorrow.  “I think that’s something you must know a lot about.”
Joseph saw the legs of the milliped probing the outer edge of the lantern. The writhing extremities curled out from the shadow into the glowing light
“That scar on your forearm. You were one of the Third Reich's anointed soldiers?” The voice asked with a smug retort.
“The scar is a dead give away. The voice sighed, “…

A morose and disheveled Joseph krapowsckie sat slumped in his chair bathed in flickering white glow cast by the monochromatic images on the projector’s screen. The film clicking in the reel was a piece Joseph had personally directed and painstakingly edited. He had shot the footage at a dozen party rallies over six months.
The quickly cutting shots were a supercut of frenzied crowds, cheering children, weeping women. All of their faces told a story about finding their awakening in words spoken by messiah of an entire nation.  It was a religious testament written in the new language of cinema. Joseph called his masterpiece,
“Courage breaks chains,”
Joseph appeared as well in this film, and there were times the camera operators inadvertently captured candid moments, the fleeting experiences that time reminds us to regard as precious. It wasn’t just Joseph, his wife his children, his friends, and colleagues were all glimpsed as well. For Joseph, one nation’s propaganda was his home movie…

The Walker family all sat to one side of their circular kitchen room table opposite a twelve-inch tv perched on the counter.  Richard, the patriarch, sat in the middle, his wife Sara sat to his right, and his children an eleven-year-old son Kevin and his fourteen-year-old daughter Rachel were seated on his left in that order.
The kitchen television was on the news and for the moment was only there to set the dinner table ambiance. The attention of the Walker’s themselves was divided between their plates and their phones. Then in a foreboding rhetorical prelude, the news anchor posed the question:
“Bots are they coming or are they already here? Can we stop them or is it already too late? My guest today has some answers to these questions and more. Tony McGrath is a cybersecurity and information specialist he worked for the NSA, has advised on the security policy of many tech giants including Facebook and Google Mr. McGrath could you tell us why experts are saying we are in the midst o…